Between Faith and Fear
by Peta2
Summary: Carol's life is a nightmare that never ends, even before the dead begin to walk the earth. How can she go on when forced to flee the dead flocking her neighborhood, leaving the memory of her baby girl behind? How will she deal when the truth comes tumbling out and who will help her heal? Is it Daryl or Merle? Only time will tell. This is a DARK fic.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Yes, it's another fic. I know, shameful of me but I wanted to try my hand at something a bit AU—and this is it…kind of. This will actually end up venturing into the Walking Dead world as we know it, with a few alterations, and will probably get the Quarry faster than I would have liked but it can't be helped. This fic is **dark **from the outset. It shouldn't make you feel sick from it being so dark, but unpleasant things happen right from this first paragraph. Please don't read if you're overly attached to Sophia because she's not in this.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Walking Dead. Duh!**

Part One

The frenetic activity around her barely registered as more than a dull murmur in her head. People rushed past her, back and forth, smeared together as an ugly blur of white and neutrals. Carol allowed the numbness to sink as deep as her soul, feeling nothing but the cold on her face every time the Emergency doors whooshed open and another calamity descended. Another haze of people trying to save lives. It washed over her like it was nothing—like other people facing life and death had little to do with her, not when her own heart was pounding deadly fast in her chest. Not while an officer of the law sat beside her, the kind woman holding her frozen hand between the warmth of her own—trying to feed some of her life into Carol who knew without being told that she was as dead inside as a woman could ever be.

A tall, lean shape swathed in white appeared directly in front of her, his words a dull hum in the air. The effort to raise her head was overwhelming and Carol felt such weakness in her neck that the weight of her head lolled around like a giant Bobbleheaded doll. The doctor waited patiently as she tried to decide how to do this—how to will herself to look up into those eyes that would confirm the nightmare that her baby girl was dead.

"Mrs. Peletier?" The voice was gentle yet firm but still Carol attempted to resist, tried to banish the reality of this person in front of her, this bearer of bad news and while her emotionally exhausted mind struggled to make her do what she had to, tears flowed thick and fast down her frozen cheeks. The officer beside her squeezed the hand warmly tucked in hers and stood, trying to encourage Carol to find her feet with gentle reassurance. The distortion of movement she sensed around her zeroed in suddenly, her hand tightening around the young officer's as her husband Ed came screaming into her line of vision.

"The hell you doin', you stupid bitch? Get up off your ass." He clutched her around her bicep and yanked her to her feet, giving her a rough shake and forcing her in front of the Emergency Room doctor.

"I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Peletier," the officer said in a hard tone as she tried to intervene but Carol was up now, her legs shaking as cold dread splintered deep into her soul.

Ed reared back, and Carol sensed rather than witnessed his barely suppressed rage at the audacity of some uppity bitch cop telling him what to do, and a great, selfish bubble of laughter burst from her lips. Before she could release more than one round of it, her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor.

The doctor immediately sunk to her level, compassion clear as she finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye, but not before she saw the well-worn black shoes he wore, the tatty, frayed hem of his pants. She wondered if his clothes were ragged because he hated to shop or if his life was mired within these hospital walls that barely contained myriads of pain and loss.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Peletier. There was nothing we could do. The damage was done before the ambulance could get her here."

Carol nodded, struggling to process the words. Too late. They'd been too late—the ambulance, her getting home from work, Ed from dragging his useless ass from in front of the TV to check on his own daughter. Broken, animalistic wails clawed from her throat as she collapsed completely to the floor, the last of her cares in this world broken free. There was nothing anyone could do now but leave her to die on this floor, to join Sophia in a world that was free of this life—free of hate and violence and pain. Free of Ed.

Shiny black shoes stopped in front of her face but Carol shrunk back from them. Grief gripped her hard, her body shaking uncontrollably as she sobbed and buried her face into the floor, hands clutched tight to her chest trying so hard to keep it all in, keep from allowing all the ugliness of her life and her sorrow from spewing out all over this bleached floor for all of them to see.

Words and movement flowed around her, then the sharp discomfort of a needle penetrating her skin. She felt the rush of calm as it ran through her veins, icicles settling along her fingers and toes, the throbbing truth of her daughter's death fading fast, too fast and then…nothing.

XXXXXXXX

There were already tears on her cheeks when Carol opened her eyes. The room was dark, but not too dark that she didn't see the police officer sitting patiently beside her bed. She thought it was the same woman who'd held her hand while they waited for news of Sophia, and as that memory hit her, new tears flowed faster and settled more bitterly on her heart, her stomach clenching spasmodically.

"Mrs. Peletier?" The officer leaned forward in her chair, taking Carol's hand and rubbing her knuckles gently with her thumb. "Carol? Is it okay if I call you that?'

Carol nodded, words dead in her throat…dead like Sophia.

"Carol, there's going to be an investigation into your daughter's death. It's standard procedure in a case like this."

Nausea rose to Carol's throat and she wretched, sitting up just as the officer shoved a hospital sputum bowl under her face. Her stomach contracted violently, relieving her of everything she'd eaten at lunch and probably more besides. An investigation—their private lives laid bare. Carol didn't care anymore. Didn't give a shit. The profanity made her sick, but made her feel high as well. Pushing herself up on the hospital bed, she struggled to escape the tight coverings and swing her legs over the side to stand unsteadily. The officer placed a hand against Carol's arm, halting her progress toward mobility.

"I need to ask you some questions surrounding your discovery of Sophia. It might be best if you stay on the bed for now."

Carol nodded, passive and pathetic as usual and anger at herself started a slow burn. Hadn't she always been passive and pathetic, silently accepting of every punch and slap her husband gave her? Every bruise he'd imparted on her flesh, every broken bone he'd felt necessary to inflict on her? She'd thought she was doing what was best for Sophia, taking the brunt of her husband's anger and hatred so that he'd leave their daughter be, but if this was the result—if this was the outcome—she'd made a fatal mistake. It was too late now, but anger erupted inside her like a new force ravaging her normal calm.

"What do you want to know?" She stared unblinking at the window in the quiet, dark room and could see various sets of headlights bounce off the glass. The night outside was inky and terrifying and all of a sudden Carol didn't want to go back to her house—didn't want to set foot into the place she shared with her husband and now the ghost of her daughter. Her precious Sophia.

"Take me through your day."

Carol nodded absently, the automatic machinations of preparing for work and leaving the house running through her head.

"I went to work like normal. Sophia said she was sick so she didn't go to school. Normally I'd drive her, drop her off before heading to the school I'm working at now."

The officer took out her notebook, took dot points then held her pen aloft as she looked at Carol thoughtfully, the sympathy in her eyes making Carol sweat.

"Your husband was at home today?"

"Ed? He was injured at work about a year ago so I had to go back to teaching. It's what I was doing before I met him. He's on strong painkillers for his back…that's what Sophia took…" The words dried up and the pain multiplied, Carol trying desperately to space her breathing so she didn't lose control, gasping rapidly as control slipped stubbornly through her fingers and the breaths started to burn her throat. Darkness started to punch out the lights behind her eyes and she was swimming in a world with no air, her body starting to slide rapidly from the bed until the officer dropped her stationery and roughly held Carol up. She spoke, loud and with authority and gradually Carol resumed a normal rhythm of breathing. She shuddered, wrapping her own arms around herself as the officer stepped back, retrieving her dropped notebook and pen and Carol tried to come to terms with forever seeing her daughter's cold body positioned on top of her neatly made bed, an empty bottle of pills with Ed's name on it lying discarded on the floor.

"Why?" Carol cried, the question slamming into her and bouncing around in her head. "Why would she do this? Things weren't great but I tried so hard to protect her from most of it. She was my little girl. My little girl." Sobs erupted from her and the officer handed her bundles of Kleenex, her hand settling along Carol's shoulders as she offered her comfort Carol knew she wouldn't be getting from anyone else.

"Too often we never know why. Sophia didn't leave a note. She hasn't made it easy for us, that's for sure, but most times it isn't your fault. Kids have a unique way of seeing the world and sometimes it's in such a negative way there'd be nothing you could do."

Carol appreciated the other woman's efforts, but she didn't believe it for a second. Whatever this was, whatever choice Sophia had made, Carol was the cause of it. She'd done nothing—too little, too late. Whatever it was, Carol knew she could have prevented it. If she'd only sent Sophia to school, if she'd left Ed…if she'd once fought back.

"Carol, was Sophia's bed made when you went to work?"

Carol blinked stupidly. "No, she was still tucked up in bed telling me she was sick."

_The bed was neatly made beneath Sophia's little body when she'd walked into the room and found her._

"Can you think of any reason why Sophia might not have been wearing any underwear?"

Carol stared at the woman, shocked and inexplicably afraid, something shadowy and hateful teasing at her edges of her mind until she firmly pushed it out. "No."

The officer nodded, added to her notes.

"And where was your husband when you got home?"

Carol re-lived her return, walking in the front door to find Ed sitting in his La-Z-Boy recliner in his undershorts and wifebeater, watching some game rerun and swilling beer like the pig he was. He'd barked at her commands for dinner as soon as her heels clacked on the tiles, and she'd straight away seen the stack of dishes on the counter beside the sink where he'd not bothered to do a thing to clean up after himself. She felt old and tired, like she was coming down with something, and her first thought then went to Sophia, who'd been sick that morning and who she'd allowed to stay home in bed. Carol had smiled and almost bounced up the stairs to go and see her little girl, the one and only bright light in her days. What she'd found had instead shaped her worst nightmares, filled her mind with dark, shapeless horrors and killed her more thoroughly than any gun ever could have.

It was too much and finally the officer gave her arm a soothing, parting pat and she was left to weep for her tremendous loss in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter is a bit heavy. I apologise to those that think we might hit something light-hearted soon. If any of that happens it won't be for a little while. So saying, Im truly grateful to all those that are giving this a go. I know it can be difficult reading angsty fic—it's not a fave genre of mine at all, so thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope it satisfies something in you to read it as it is in me for writing it.

**Guest**: I feel afraid that you think the worldwide zombie apocalypse is more cheerful than this, LMAO. I can see it though ;)

**ImOrca**—you don't know how MUCH I wish I could do an over-the-top revenge plot…can I manage that realistically? Hmmmm, I'm thinking hard on this because I want to rip off Ed's balls and have someone shove them down his throat! You just might like what I have planned. As to the other…er…I KNOW! I need an intervention or something. If it helps any, I have a chapter of all three of the other fics in the works.

**Fairies Masquarade**: You are awesome. I know many others already knew this, and so did I, but now I KNOW it, you know?

**Jas87**: I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes too, because other than getting to the quarry, I have very little plot at the moment, LOL. Let's hope a brainwave hits me soon!

**Supfan**: I KNOW! Marol fic is addictive. I'm not sure I have what it takes for him to usurp Daryl right under his nose, but this fic isn't set in stone yet either. I'm glad so many have the courage to give it a go!

**Dixonrocks**: Thanks! I was hoping for intense and as I don't usually write angst, it's such a relief to know it worked! Hope you like this chapter…or well, like probably isn't really the right word…

**Lilone1776**: Yes, that is what I am eager to find out—what kind of woman Carol would become where her daughter has died through something other than being the victim of a walker as opposed to dying because of something that could have/should have been much easier to prevent. How much impact will Ed continue to have? What kind of woman will she be in an apocalypse now? The possibilities are fascinating! Which Dixon are you betting on? Which one has the heart or the ability, or the courage and motivation?

**Peonies01**: You made me all teary! Thank you. Carol is my favourite character, too. She's just so…worthy, I think. Deserving. Now, I just have to work out what it is she deserves because right now she doesn't think she even deserves to live! Poor Carol!

**AffairWithACrossbow**: One vote for Daryl! ;) Ed is a real piece of work. He is definitely hateful. Sonofabitch! I'm so glad you're feeling it. I wanted it to be intense.

**BanannaFvdSnow: **A wonderful thing to hear when you're on a new track that no one else has mapped before! Thanks for giving it a go!

**Vickih: **I think we all know Ed will get it, in one form or another ;) Hope you don't mind the dark…there's more of it to come!

Now…on to part two. If you have a reaction, I'd really love for you to tell me about it!

Part Two

Ed wasn't home.

She knew it the second the front door closed behind her, even though Carol felt like she merely drifted through it in a wave of numbness. She was broken to the very core, and Ed was gone. She didn't understand it, condemned him for it, hated every single cell of him that he could kick and punch her their entire married life, and the one time he could have stood up, manned up, _supported_ her and grieved with her, he was gone. _Fucking _asshole. She shuddered with the depth of her hatred, so profound that the profanity exploded from her in an unaccustomed rush.

On legs that shook, Carol took her first real step into the house and quickly snatched at the wall as she rapidly felt icy cold and the security of touch evaporated into thin air. She almost fell to her knees, the wall barely preventing her fall, but then she felt trapped against it, unable to move, unable to feel, and then she was beating it, her fists aching and brittle beneath the impact of her pain, her hate, her _love. _Ignoring her uncoordinated, bumbling progress, she stumbled to the stairs and clawed her way up every single one of them till she reached the upstairs hall, crawling to the closed door that hid Sophia's room from her desperate, needy eyes.

The kind officer had left her at her front door, sympathy and concern so evident that it embarrassed Carol, but still she'd rejected offers to call for friends for support—who would she call? What friends did she really have? Instead, she'd nodded her head dumbly that she'd be okay—she was made of stern stuff afterall. Isn't that how she'd always made it through? How she'd always managed to stumble _after _to the bathroom to assess and _deal _with her marital war wounds before moving stubbornly back into the world outside her house and ignoring all the gossip-filled words that tainted the air around her? Except, now she wasn't made of anything but pain. Of loss. And Sophia's door was still closed against her bruised fist, Carol kneeling on the floor in front of it as if in prayer. She begged God for her baby, her wet face pressed up against the wooden obstruction and by the time she'd finished pleading, her voice was just as raw and broken as the rest of her.

Blood running like ice in her veins, Carol slowly pushed down the lever on the door and bumped it open. Nausea surged from her belly to the back of her throat as soon as she saw the bed, still freshly made and undisturbed, vacant. The pill bottle that she'd noticed the last time she was inside Sophia's room was conspicuously absent, Ed's name no longer glaring at her while her daughter's cold body lay in a forever repose on top of her bed, just waiting for her mother to find her. A final stab in her heart. A statement to trample all over Carol's pain to emphasise her guilt, her _blindness. _How could she not have known that Sophia had been submerged in so much suffering that her only option was to kill herself? She'd done all she could to protect her daughter from her father's fists, from his inexplicable _hate, _tried to shelter her from the ugliness of their life with the promise of fairytales and sprinkling pretty fairy dust that Carol now knew had fallen overwhelmingly flat. What kind of mother was she that she hadn't _known_?

She broke out into a cold sweat, her skin clammy and shuddering against the memory—the tortured, animalistic screeches that had exploded from her throat the second her slow mind had found enough function to sort out what she'd been seeing. Her daughter, her child that she'd nourished from her own body, who she'd shared stories with and gone swimming with, done homework with and talked about her first crush, lying dead and gone, _gone forever, _making sure she'd made her bed _like a good little girl _before she'd swallowed down a bottle of strong painkillers belonging to her father. To _Ed. _

_Where the fuck was he?_

Trembling, moaning like a fatally wounded animal, Carol crawled to the bed, fingers scrabbling to take hold of the covers that had once kept her daughter warm and pull herself up to slouch over it, heart pounding terrifyingly fast in her chest as the pain welled up and swept her away in memories, kicking her in the guts as each milestone registered and was remembered thoroughly. Relived vividly. Her face hit Sophia's pillow and the sobs began, drenching the pillow in less than a minute as her stomach cramped, knees drawn up to counteract the agony.

What had she missed? What had tortured Sophia's soul so completely that she'd rather be dead than go on to live in this house? To go on surviving this world by her mother's side? Whatever culpability Carol was responsible for crushed her completely, and all at once Carol wished for her own life to wither in this place, in the very spot her child had chosen to leave her. She was selfish, she always had been according to Ed, but all she wanted was her daughter back and if she couldn't have that, she wanted to die. To no longer exist in a space that had only Ed and no Sophia to take the hopelessness, the torture of it all away.

She was hollow, nothing more than a shell, her insides scooped out and scattered now wherever the soul of her daughter languished and Carol decided right then that there was nothing left to consider, nothing left to breathe for. Dead blue eyes slowly scanned the floor, her body lacking any fire or energy to get up and start a search. The empty bottle would have been useless to her and she knew Ed was only able to fill one prescription at a time anyway. There was nothing stronger than aspirin left in the house, nothing she had the energy to go and seek. Exhaustion fell on her hard, like God's effort to restrain her and give her time to see a way out, and like the passive, pathetic being she was, Carol accepted it, allowing her puffy, stinging eyes to drift closed, ignoring the broken, aching hiccups that shred her throat raw as she fell rather than drifted into an awkward and unwelcome sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

She'd been dropped off earlier at the house around lunch time. As Carol tried to force her swollen eyes open, she sensed darkness now behind the drawn curtains in Sophia's room. Sadness hung over her like a debilitating sickness, dulling her ears so that all sound about the house seemed to meld into an electric hum, pin dotted occasionally by a sharp thump here and there—the shuddering kick start of the refrigerator, the metallic clang of something out in the yard or the backfiring of a vehicle as it rumbled down her street. It was all meaningless to her—nothing more than a dull soundtrack to her grief and Carol ignored it in favour of welcoming the numbness to encompass her fully. Her stomach clenched spasmodically but she ignored that too, not caring if she was hungry or sick or whether it was just a craving to die. She'd blanked everything relevant out so thoroughly that it took a while to hear the knocking downstairs on the front door, and she just barely was able to rouse herself when she recognised the voice of the nice young officer who had cared for her throughout this ordeal.

On legs that seemed heavier than lead, Carol roused herself from her daughter's bed, the separation from the space dragging what was left of her heart so far down that she could barely move. It felt like an age before she made it to the door, and when she swung it open and stared at the two police officers who now spoke to her, it took more energy than she had left to focus on their actual words. Their voices warped into something other than language, becoming little more than a muted murmur that Carol found it impossible to make sense of, and while she stood there staring at their lips, small beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she felt faint.

"Carol? Carol, can you hear me?"

It was the officer's touch that did it, a soft, gentle had on her arm that jolted her back to the reality of having the police on her doorstep.

"I'm so sorry," Carol apologised, struggling to hold in her tears as she maintained the good manners she'd been raised to always display. "What can I do for you?"

She noticed the quick look between the two officers of the law but its meaning went over her head.

The female officer once again took the lead, gazing intently into Carol's eyes until she felt uncomfortable, exposed and she shifted back from the door into her foyer.

"Is Ed around?" Carol slowly glanced up again, wondering what they wanted with her husband. She shook her head, the tedious motion of communication entirely too much for her to care about. "We were hoping we could ask him a few questions—like I asked you at the hospital."

Carol nodded, remembering vaguely the short string of questions that forced her to relive the previous afternoon. Forced her to see again her daughter stretched out on that bed—the first dead body Carol had ever seen and it had to be her pre-teen daughter. Forced her to see the deathly pallor of her skin, her hands resting carefully on her stomach, her hair splayed out one last time across her pillow. Her favourite doll still lying across her chest. Grief squeezed her throat tight and the tears could not be held back now. Her face dissolved in misery and the police stepped back, not in the business of offering her the comfort she should be receiving from her husband, family…friends.

"I haven't seen him since the hospital," she said instead, her voice croaky with a mountain of tears obscuring the way. "Not since we spoke to the doctor who was looking after Sophia."

Some more silent communication between them and the male officer went back to their patrol car and Carol was left wondering why this woman was being so nice to her when most people she actually knew avoided her like the plague.

"Can you give us a call when he comes home?" She was bending down, trying to catch Carol's eye and at last Carol just jerked her head in a sharp nod, not caring to relay that she hoped Ed never came home. "It's important we talk to him," she tried again and Carol just wished she'd leave.

"I'll call you," she agreed, that void inside her getting bigger every minute she was forced to think about Ed, think about her life and what it would mean from now on. Without waiting to see if the woman wanted anything else from her, Carol shut the door in her face and sunk to the floor, content to sit on cold tile in a dark house waiting to hear the cruiser's engine reverse down her drive, waiting for ghosts to cross the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: I would like to tell myself I'm getting better at being more consistent with updates…it's only been 5 days since my last chapter! Sadly, I acknowledge that it isn't true—only in my own mind! For those wondering about my other fics, I have written a bit of all three of them…I'm catching up on other things in my life and I can see hope for more writing time in the near future. Say some prayers…or chants…or sacrifice goats or something for me!

Bowled over by the response to the last chapter. I am so very glad for all those sticking by me when so far we've had two full on, Carol-centric chapters. I love Carol—I simply adore her, so I'm thrilled so many of you are happy enough how much time and space I have given her in this fic. Carol starts out very low in this fic. It's interesting to think how she might have come into it all coming from a slightly different angle. All your thoughts on this are welcome, especially as I am still plotting out where we go from the Quarry. Now hold onto your seats, more gruelling emotional stuff ahead.

**Trigger warning: **for those who have ever suffered physical abuse by a spouse.

**Dixonrocks: **Ed's being cagey and a whole lot smarter than the average bear. Quite unlike him really! Read below for his re-entry to the fic!

**Summers Rage: **While I am thrilled you're still enjoying the fic, I am concerned you feel the last chapter ended abruptly and you felt you missed something fundamental to the plot. If you can work out what you think went wrong, please let me know. I will fix it if I can!

**Guest: **Yes, it breaks my heart but a 12 year old deciding to take their own life isn't unheard of. Researching it made me a little sick, actually. Especially when you read the mode of choice for achieving it. They didn't really delve into Carol's grief past the initial explosion of it on the show, so hopefully I can do justice to how I think a mother would behave and feel in the situation Carol finds herself within. I hope you're still with me after this chapter

**BannaFvdSnow: **Dead Ed…that's kind of catchy, LOL. I like it. Heehee. It has to happen sooner or later, right?

**ImOrca: **We've already discussed your review, but I'm eager to read your next one ;)

**Peonies01: **It's a horrible topic, and I feel awful that 'mums' are getting it. Still, this was reality for Carol—the way that woman comes out on top, she deserves so much more than she got. Thank you VERY much for still reading!

**Guest: **I completely agree. I understand the desire to keep Sophia alive, but the truth is, while she lived, she and Carol both were stuck in that victim mentality. Carol needed such devastating loss to come out of herself and be what she never knew she could. Let's hope she travels an equally beneficial path here. Still not quite sure how I will get her to appeal to Merle OR Daryl…

**Vickih: **The dark can be very scary sometimes, LOL. It tends to freak me out, which is why I much prefer sappy, mushy stories. If you want depth, though, you have to go dark in a show and with characters such as these. I just hope I can do it justice and actually do what needs to be done to pull Carol out of it. Wish me luck!

**GG: **Good I mean, not good that you feel her pain vividly, but good that you are because it means I'm writing it well enough. I think I'm good for creative ways to gut Ed (oops, did I say gut? LOL ), what I'm struggling with is how to make her be someone Merle or Daryl want to save and protect.

**Itsi3: **Yay! Carol is extremely expressive. I'm loving being able to explore through her.

**What Evil Lurks: **Whoot! I thought you'd disappeared! Okay, the crime scene point is very valid and I thought hard about it when I was writing that chapter. Carol is taken back over 24 hours after Sophia has been collected by the ambulance, being sedated in the hospital etc. I have no idea how long they would detain a crime scene in someone's house for a suicide, but I was thinking with the world going to hell (they'd have slightly advance warning about the zombies on the move maybe?) that proper procedure might take a back seat. Just this once. They did take the pill bottle, though ;)

It's horrible, but true. I don't see Carol as being the type to confide in people, or to try to friend people at all. I see her sitting in the staff room, eating her sandwich while trying to stay as far away from everyone else as she can. Ed definitely needs to eat a bullet.

Part Three

She had no memory of how long she'd sat on that cold, hard floor, but by the time she stared blankly at the wall in front of her while dragging herself to her feet, her butt was more numb than she thought it had ever been before. There was nothing that she could recall about making it to her sofa, either, or flipping the remote to the TV and having incomprehensible news splattered all over the screen. Carol rather thought she'd watched the same confusing scenes over and over for hours before any of the words actually registered. An epidemic. Bites. Dead starting to walk again. Refugee camps being hastily set up in Atlanta. None of it made sense and for the most part Carol assumed it was some kind of B-grade movie she'd been lucky enough to miss all her life until now. When it had that cast of reality not usually seen in B-grade attempts at cinematic genius, she set to wondering if it was meant to be like that Paranormal show—stories of ghostly elements that appeared real but were still completely made up.

Dawn began to crack a slit of light through the curtains over the kitchen sink, the lengthening stretches of light making Carol's heart sink. Another day—how many now since Sophia closed her eyes for the final time? The shrill scream of the phone tore into her loneliness with a shattering, fear inducing suddenness. As she painfully stood and walked to the kitchen to answer it, her gaze strayed to the sight of people screaming in the streets, to a monster that lurched out from behind the news reporter and sunk its rotting teeth into her shoulder. The receiver fell out of her hand and clattered loudly against the counter, Carol's heartbeat thumping overtime with her realisation that this wasn't some movie that had spanned the hours through the night and into morning. This was happening in her world—and one that seemed to have gone completely crazy overnight.

The woman on television screamed, her terror captured and bounced all around the country for stupid people like Carol Peletier to see. For the life of her, Carol couldn't grasp the meaning behind it, and in her confusion, her own name seemingly called from somewhere distant gradually pulled her back to the here and now.

"Mrs. Peletier? Carol? Are you there?"

Her fingers feeling uncoordinated and awkward, Carol fumbled to pick up the receiver and hold it to her ear. She was cold and shaking and her voice felt old in her throat. "Hello?"

"Carol? This is Officer Channing. I was hoping you could tell me if your husband has returned home yet?"

The words seemed to kick against a block in her brain, barely making sense as she glanced back toward the screen and the repeated footage of the reporter being attacked. Compelled to stare at it and try to force some kind of sense to push past the fuzz that was making everything strange, Carol struggled to focus on the question about Ed's possible reappearance.

"I haven't seen him," she answered slowly, distracted, horrified as more chilling scenes splashed across her screen. The piercing scream of a child running within a panicked crowd, holding her mother's hand, struck Carol hard and she felt herself bumping, sliding against the counter top until her elbow smacked hard against the edge. She winced with pain, tears prickling at her eyes when the voice on the other end of the phone served to centre her once more.

"Carol, it's imperative that we speak with Ed. Do you know where he might be? Where he might be hiding?"

She shook her head before realising the action was for her benefit alone, invisible to the presence on the other end of town connecting to Carol's life through nothing more than cables. The implication that her husband might be hiding slid right past her consciousness as her attention was once again snagged by the news reports running live.

"Ed always does what he wants," she answered, belatedly picking up on the bitterness and sorrow in her own voice.

There was silence for a moment and then the sound of the voice changed, the officious tone eradicated for something showing much more concern. Something that might have revealed fear.

"Is there someone you can call to come and stay with you?"

Carol thought she sensed the Officer reaching out across town to her, appealing to her to do something to save herself, but fanciful as though the thought was, there was no one in her miserable life who would drop everything and come running to stand by her side while she grieved the death of her daughter. As that reality sunk into her skin and took root, Carol glanced once again at the continual breaking news stories that never paused and gripped the phone in her hand much harder than before.

"Officer Channing? There's something on the news…I don't know if I'm going mad or not but—"

"You aren't going mad, Carol."

The gasp whooshed out of her without warning and Carol sagged against the counter again, her body losing all strength as something new, something equally terrible battled to make sense in her head.

"What is it?" she asked, almost begging for clarification. "What's going on?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and Carol realised she was actually holding her breath, not sure what she was anticipating but not being able to think of one single thing to explain to herself what she'd been seeing on tv.

"We aren't exactly sure, but there seems to be some kind of outbreak. I strongly suggest you stay inside your house for now until this gets sorted out. And, if Ed does come home, please call me."

"Of course." Feeling slightly off-centre, Carol replaced the phone in its charger and shuffled slowly back to her spot on the sofa, her hands desperately trying to rub away the onset of a chill that was spreading rapidly right through her. She carefully sat on the edge of the sofa, peering intently at the screen as new coverage was shared around the country, and as a monstrous face of decaying flesh and blackened teeth was caught in a camera's zoom, Carol felt her breath leave her in a rush and a hole of emptiness settle heavily around her heart. She didn't feel afraid—not for herself. She steadfastly watched as people were attacked, bitten, torn apart right in front of her, barely registering that this was the human race under attack from its own. Barely finding it within herself to care that there were people—innocents and children and old people alike—running desperately around the streets in fear and panic, probably in her own county, and becoming a feast for whatever these things were that seemed to be dead, but still moving and feeding as if alive but ravenous for flesh.

Sometime during her absorption of this new horror, Carol fell asleep. Her dreams were empty, sucked dry of all happiness, of all ugliness, of everything that could possibly mean anything so that she wandered through a wasteland of sleep feeling like there was nothing left for her. No reason to go on.

The front door slamming violently against the wall and Ed shooting through it like his pants were on fire catapulted Carol from sleep and she was instantly on her feet, shrinking back from the man that was both her husband and tormentor. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl and the look he threw her was filled with so much hate that Carol shrivelled within herself, slowly, carefully trying to distance herself from him. His gaze slipped from her to the television that was still broadcasting panic and horror endlessly. He moved with more determination and purpose than she'd seen since his injury had forced him to his favourite chair and her out to work so they would continue to have food on the table.

"The fuck you just standin' there for? Cain't you see the world's gone to hell?"

He blew through the room like a hurricane and almost ran to the cabinet hidden in the linen closet. Fishing out a key that Carol had wished on more than one occasion she'd had a copy of, he fitted it into the lock and immediately drew out a handgun and boxes of bullets. He didn't bother locking it back up. Carol almost laughed. What was the point? Her baby was already dead—no chance of succumbing to curiosity, checking out daddy's gun and accidentally shooting herself with it.

From there he moved to the bedroom, snatching up the first suitcase he found and started piling his clothes into it.

"I know you're too stupid to understand this shit, so I'll explain it to you real simple-like. Those fuckers out there," he spat as he pointed to their bedroom window, the action inspiring Carol to swivel her head slowly to take a look, a frown settling between her brows. "And the ones on the box? They're dead. The fucking dead are up an' walkin' around, creatin' more dead. So get your old, ugly ass in gear and get to packin'. You got ten minutes while I load the car with supplies an' then I'm leavin'. You ain't there, your ass is left behind."

Carol stood in the doorway, her thoughts shuffling through her disordered mind. He went to barge past her when she looked up, saw the glint of hate in his eye and said the first thing that came into her head, shrinking away from him in anticipation of the smack that would show her he didn't appreciate her lack of focus.

"The police have been here. They want to talk to you about Sophia."

His lip curled and his fist twitched at his side. Carol swallowed hard in fear, cowering away from him the best she could as he stood over her, loomed over her like the angry, giant bully that he was. He struck out with lightning speed, his other hand clasping her firmly around the throat as he pushed her against the door jamb. His fingers flexed, tightened around her jumping pulse and Carol whimpered, tears squeezing past tightly closed lids as she struggled not to give in and cry. This is what she wanted anyway—to die. What did it matter how it happened?

"That shit is dead an' buried," Ed hissed cruelly and Carol gasped her shock, eyes shooting open to clash with ones so evil that she shuddered sickly.

"That _shit," _she spat, crumbling, breaking with grief. "That shit was our daughter."

There was something, something very small but promising retribution, that flickered in his dark eyes and Carol gurgled a choked sound as he slammed her head into the wood of the door frame, pushing his lower body into hers. She felt the fleshy round of his gut and nausea rose up and almost choked her again. His cock pressed hard against her pelvis and his hand squeezed her throat, cutting off her air entirely. She felt sick, revolted, appalled that the mention of Sophia somehow resulted in him getting hard—that the violence he pitted against her made his cock jab hungrily at her when the last thing she thought she could stand was her husband's hands touching her in that way. Yet, she left her arms dangling at her sides, doing nothing to fight him and his intentions. After years of conditioning, she knew she'd never win against him, so what was the point in fighting it?

He kept his hands on her until she saw white dots in the darkness. Until his voice was nothing more than a disjointed buzz in the background. She embraced it, released the pain, released her life, and just as she was about to pass out, he removed his hand and her body went slack, collapsing to the floor while her uncooperative lungs desperately sucked in air when she'd have preferred to leave things the way they'd been heading. His boot landed on her hand and he crushed it beneath his weight.

"Get your ass off this floor, pack your things and get to the car. Don't make me come back and get ya." He didn't need to make a threat; the threat was plain in the tone of his voice and Carol nodded dumbly, as expected…as she'd always done.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Well, here we go. As anticipated, keeping my head in the right space for writing darker stuff isn't easy for me at all! Sorry this took so long but thank you everyone who is sticking with it.

**BananaFvdSnow: **I have plans for Ed, they aren't set in concrete and I'm hoping at the very least they are emotionally painful, but he won't be escaping Scott free!

**Dixonrocks: **Very sad she has to go with Ed, but I'm afraid if she was left on her own she'd not leave her house and end up dead Ed at least serves a purpose to get her to the quarry, if nothing else.

**AffairWithACrossbow: **Hope this chapter answers some of your hopes after the last one hopefully at the quarry she will find loads of support she's never had before.

**Vickih: **Yes, it's truly awful. Domestic violence is insidious and not many people have the courage to step forward and help to do something. Sadly there are way too many freaks in this world that think they have the right to brutalise those weaker physically than them.

**Lilone1776: **Sadly for the story it was good that she is an abused woman and she just went with Ed no questions asked, because we all know what would have happened to her should she have stayed. Carol deserves to live, and she will do and I have no intention for Ed to take an easy exit. I haven't quite decided exactly what will happen to him, but I have the germ of an idea ;)

**GG: **I think neighbours—depending on how you've treated them during the time you've lived beside each other—can be very distant. Many don't encourage closeness and as Carol's neighbours are probably aware of the horror that goes on in that house, finding out something else as tragic has happened would be too frightening for them to crawl out of their habit in order to offer any kind of solace. It's very sad. Hopefully people will like how things end up with Ed.

**Rodgerse: **I think I PMed a reply to your review. It gave me a LOT to think about. Keep that coming!

**kaoscraze: **Thank you! It is incredibly difficult to try and get inside how devastated and empty she would feel. It's not a place I like to visit, really, which I why I rarely write angsty fic! Sadly kids this young do make these decisions. It's just awful.

And now, on with the next chapter. As always, I love to hear what you all think. Please review!

Part Four

Barely forty miles out of town and Carol knew that Ed had made a vital mistake. They were at a standstill on the interstate, the nose of the car pointed determinedly toward Atlanta where the promised refugee camps either waited or represented broken pipe dreams. Carol sat as quiet and still as she could, jumping at every violently expressed moment of impatience from Ed before she finally breathed a heaving sigh of relief when his palm slammed down on the steering wheel once more and he threw open the driver's side door. The second his feet hit the asphalt Carol started to shake. Tension uncoiled so rapidly that stinging pain hit her chest and the back of her neck, her hands quickly trying to massage the agony away before her tears resulted in little more but another blow from her husband.

The road was overrun with people. She'd never seen anything like this before, and as the ache finally started to recede and Carol thought she could breathe a little easier, the gravity of their situation attempted to sink in. Some, like her husband, were walking around looking pissed off that they were stuck between hundreds of cars with little choice but to remain. Carol looked out her window and saw a woman standing out on the road holding a baby, rocking it back and forth while tears fell from her face onto the blankets the child was swaddled within. She felt numb watching it all, barely able to see anyone else's fear through her own smothering grief. She saw women with children and all she could summon the energy up to feel was jealousy. She only wanted for Sophia to be standing right next to her—even with as much danger as they were all in—surely it wasn't too much to wish for? The uselessness of wishing and hoping and begging squeezed her heart again, and she swallowed compulsively at the lump that was rising in her throat.

Carol opened her door slowly, undecided if she wanted to chance Ed's rage for not staying put in the car more than she wanted—needed—to just get out of that space. She didn't care about fresh air, didn't want to connect with any of these frantic and terrified people searching the horizon for some kind of miracle. She wasn't even sure if she cared so much if one of those monsters launched themselves at her from out of nowhere and took its requisite chunk out of her body, tearing her life from her in pieces so she finally could have the rest she wanted from all this pain.

There were no monsters from what she could see, but when her vision cleared from a bout of unexpected tears, there was a woman, a boy standing beside her that looked around Sophia's age. The encroaching darkness did nothing to hold back the sharp edged agony that another mother still had her child—that he hadn't made the heavy decision to take his life so he'd not have to face his mother again. For the most part, they had a security with standing beside each other that having nothing to fear gave them—nothing but the dead rising up and attacking the living, at least. The woman smiled kindly at Carol, and she struggled to find a way to react appropriately. Ed wouldn't like her talking to a stranger on the road on a normal day, let alone during a time when it looked like mankind was in for a harsh readjustment to its reality. Her indecision on how to function seemed to affect the woman until the friendly smile faltered, her head dropping away to go back to singular introspection. Carol thought that would easily be the end of it and she'd narrowly escaped Ed's interpretation of events once he caught up with what was happening on her side of the car, but then a man wearing identifiable police garb stepped in front of her and asked if she might have any food that she could share with the boy. The police had been kind to her in recent days, so Carol nodded her head in a jerky fashion, carefully eyeballed her husband as she dived back into the car and found an MRE to give to the boy. His face lit up as he thanked her, and Carol actually chuckled as his belly growled at this new promise of fulfilment.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" Ed blasted around the car, not so gently barging against her so that her slight frame made impact with the side of the car. The police officer was immediately there, making some argument for her safety, but Carol had retreated mentally, grateful for small mercies that Ed hadn't struck her too hard—not that anything at this point could hurt more than the wound already scored inches deep into her heart.

"Are you okay?" The sweet concern of the woman's voice cracked Carol's resolve to block them all out. It was in her best interests to pretend from this point out that she'd never seen the woman and her boy that was the same age as Sophia. Ed was going to punish her for handing out supplies he'd rather no one know they had, and she was smart enough to know it was going to hurt. Continuing the interaction was only going to leave her open to more of his wrath and while she already felt he could do nothing to make her feel more miserable than she already was, she didn't need what was left of the crumbling world to witness it.

"I'm fine," Carol replied, the words she was sure by now must be tattooed on her tongue. She was so used to fobbing off all concern thrown her way—desperate to keep anyone from delving too deeply into Ed's motivations, into her black eyes or her unsteady limps. So used to ignoring every tone of voice that always inevitably made her feel pathetic. Throwing an 'I'm fine' out there with a warm smile almost always sent them scurrying away, feeling too unbalanced to inquire any further if maybe her husband was menacing her. If Carol felt resentment toward it, she got over it, and fast.

"You don't seem fine," the brunette challenged her and for the first time in days Carol felt a tiny spark of _something _light up within her. Someone recognised her feint and called her on it. The day was turning very quickly into the kind of one she'd never experienced before. This was a new kind of exposure but not one where she felt she needed to quickly find someplace to hide. For the briefest moment she thought that maybe, just this short space of time while they shared the same minutes beside each other exposed out on the highway, everything wasn't hopeless. Ed's door slammed and Carol jumped, the gesture shocking her back into the moment and her life—the one where she was wise to not miss the little details. Ed was smoking, his agitation plain as his fingers drilled out an aggressive beat on the steering wheel, and his gaze stayed resolutely on the cars that were tangled up for miles ahead of them.

Ignoring his hissy fit, and knowing she'd pay double for it later, Carol held out her hand to the woman who for one short moment had brought her out of herself.

"I'm Carol. Carol Peletier," she said, smiling as the newly acquainted Lori Grimes enthusiastically pumped her hand.

"Lovely to meet you, Carol," Lori returned, and Carol was convinced that Lori did indeed think it was lovely to meet her. It threw her completely but made her feel warm all over in ways she didn't understand.

An hour later, Carol glanced at her watch and frowned. The sky was darkening and people were becoming frenzied with mounting confusion and panic. Ed had stayed away from her and seeing the furious glares he threw the Grimes' way was enough for Carol to know that if the officer hadn't gotten right up into her husband's face, she'd have felt the force of his anger at various of his favourite punching points on her body.

The crowd was getting restless, a number of groups breaking off from the long line of cars to wander up ahead of the traffic snarl. Lori spoke quietly with her husband and then walked over to Carol, holding Carl's hand in a tight grip as they approached.

"I really hate to ask," she started, darting a wary glance at Ed before sliding her attention back to Carol. "Shane wants to take a walk up ahead and see if there's any way out of this. See if we can find out how far it goes into Atlanta. Would you mind watchin' Carl for me?"

The request sat in her gut like a festering sore. She didn't want to be responsible for Carl—didn't want to even for a second hold his life in her hands. She wasn't capable—she wasn't safe. Lori's brown eyes implored Carol to do her this one favour, a myriad of concerns etching lines of exhaustion around her mouth.

"Of course." The words were out of her mouth before she could haul them back and before she could argue with Lori that she hadn't meant them, that the very last thing she wanted to do with any minute of her life was to watch over someone else's child, the woman had turned heel and trotted back to the side of her husband, leaving an unfurrowing dread to settle across Carol's shoulders that tried to cripple her emotionally.

Carl stepped up close to her, his hand burrowing into hers as he looked up at her and she drowned in the open, trustful expression he graced her with.

"We're going to find somewhere safe. You should come with us."

Carol blinked, stunned at the boy's words. She wasn't quite sure if he was just being friendly or if he was channelling a wisdom way beyond his years.

"Of course, Carl. We're all trying to get some place safe."

"You need to stay with us. Shane will protect you." His tone was so earnest that a breath hitched in her chest. As he watched her, big blue eyes wide and harshly knowing, Carol suddenly realised how chill the approaching night was as darkness seemed to just drop out of the sky to cover them without warning. The coldness soaked through her flesh and joined the numb ache in her chest and Carol bit the inside of her cheeks hard to keep threatening tears away. To keep her grief in its place.

"That's lovely of you to offer," Carol placated, wondering if maybe she should really rather take the boy up on it. "You really shouldn't call your dad by his first name, though."

Carl's brow crinkled up as he contemplated her and Carol was beginning to wonder which one of them was the adult and which was the child. Sorrow bled across the boy's countenance, then, and Carol gasped, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to give him a hug.

"Shane's not my dad. My dad is dead."

Carol nodded, not wanting to say anything else to prolong the moment of grief, but her eyes urgently sought out the return of his mother in the distance. As she looked the heavy drone of a helicopter erupted into the air over the long trail of vehicles and flew toward the city. She wondered about it, thinking nothing more but of the supplies it must be rushing to those huddling within the promised refugee camps—the ones she hoped they would find safety within come morning. Not five minutes later the boom of multiple explosions impacted the silence that had developed between her and Carl, the ground under their feet shifting slightly so that Carol tipped and fell against the side of the Cherokee. It wasn't a hard fall, but she squeaked from the surprise of it, and then the flood of bodies that ran screaming back from where Lori and Shane had gone threw her into mental turmoil.

When Shane and Lori appeared back before them, both of them panting and wearing matching expressions of shock and horror, a more accurate reflection of what they'd witness than any words they could have used to paint the actual picture, some small pocket of fear finally crept into Carol's heart and momentarily pushed her guilt and grief aside. A short negotiation with Ed and then Shane was ushering them quickly back into the car, himself jumping into his jeep while Lori tried to share some bravery with her in her final glance and smile.

Ed turned the key in the ignition, an ugly snarl etched around his mouth. He was no fool, no matter how selfish and violent he was. He had few choices open to him and following after someone with a uniform still meant something in his confused understanding of the world. He was out of his league with these new events—the government bombing the place they'd promised as safety to its citizens, eradicating the people and the civilization that had existed within the confines of the city in one brazen, decisive move. The reality of all that loss unexpectedly slammed into Carol and she felt herself gag against the nausea, balling her fist and placing it against her mouth while squeezing her eyes shut tight to try and squint out the imagery. It was only momentary, but the final image of her daughter lying dead and forever beyond her reach was shunted from her mind and replaced by faceless numbers who it seemed had never stood a chance.

While her grief bloomed, shifting to the embrace the current calamity, Carol watched as more and more cars tried to nose their way off the interstate, following behind the cop that seemed to be leading them away from this mess to hopefully somewhere safer. Somewhere they could recapture some measure of normality. Of civilization. The steadfast conviction of the boy earlier that they'd find somewhere safe and then all Carol's prayers would be answered occurred to her now, and in a move both shocking and abhorrent to her, Carol offered up those words to Christ to beg for safe passage. Though Sophia was gone, she didn't want to die like this—on some other _thing's _terms that conflicted with her own. She didn't hold out much hope that Jesus would be listening to her prayers—her own daughter had committed the gravest sin and she feared that God's ears were now permanently closed to her and her family, but for whatever hope was left for these people now roaming around aimless, baseless and terrified, she hoped there was some mercy still in existence somewhere in the world, despite Sophia's actions and despite the lack of her own.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Please, nobody fall over in shock. I know I'm updating two fics within two days. It would seem I am on a bit of a roll. I'm excited! I have to go out now—my daughter is desperate to get the new Percy Jackson book, but when I get back I will reply personally to last chapter reviews. Please, if you like this fic, take the time to let me know. I really value all your input and many times your comments make me thinking even deeper about what I am doing. Anyway, sit back and continue this ride~ Megan

Part Five

She'd never felt more exposed in her life as she did now, circulating through groups of survivors at this miraculous and beautiful landscape of the quarry. Not when bruises tainted her skin, or when her arm was broke—wearing a cast and a sling for all the world to see. Not even when she'd shorn her head almost bald, making every mole and freckle and scar visible for every set of eyes that chose to look a little deeper than most. No, the one thing that exposed her more than anything else was her grief. She couldn't shake it—couldn't even share it. Or she chose not to, despite a growing, foundling friendship with several of the women. She tried hard to keep her distance, feeling the cold slake of blood in her veins every time Ed noticed and glared at her for not trying hard enough. It was a losing battle, though, surrounded as they were now by people, and without barely being able to keep her step, Lori, Jacqui, Andrea and too many others reached beyond her resistance and inducted her into a sorority of sisters—of survivors—and Carol couldn't seem to shake herself loose.

Every dark look Ed aimed her way was blatantly obvious to everyone in camp. They all offered her sympathetic shrugs, worried eyes, soft supportive words, and Carol felt consumed with shame. It had been many years since she'd lived in such close confines with others. Her neighbours stayed thoroughly out of her business, any thumps or cries they may have overheard from her house driving them away faster than Ed's more directed anger ever could have. Amongst themselves the women seemed to have decided they could do little to change anything between the married couple, but they would try to shield Carol and give her some form of happiness within her day by keeping her busy and as far from Ed as they could get her without having him chase her down. The shame escalated even more, Carol's unaccepting heart shrivelling from their attempts to save her, knowing it was far too late. And most nights, when the moon was highest in the sky and all good folk had been long asleep, those that still drifted in wakefulness could hear her cries in the night and realise how right she was.

The mornings that followed Ed's brutal attacks were the mornings where Carol rued the loss of her hair the most. It had been years since she'd mourned the decision to decapitate her long, curling locks. Only afterwards had she regretted it—if only for the stares and headshakes of sympathy and disapproval that went along with people who thought they understood, but didn't. She hadn't cut it off to stop Ed from slamming her head into the floor or from dragging her around the house while kicking her randomly within his filthy temper. She'd cut it one day when the sky had been beautiful and blue, when the sun had shone, when the birds had been singing and when Sophia had been chattering happily in the front yard as she alternated between playing with her dolly and chasing butterflies. Surrounded by all that natural light and happiness all while suffering the way her ribs ached and her lip stung, she couldn't control the impulse to change herself, to resemble the thing he made her truly believe she was: ugly. She tried so desperately to make herself into the most repulsive woman Ed had ever seen with the added hope that if he lost any physical attraction to her, she might be saved in one tiny part of her life.

She was shocked when it had worked. He'd been indescribably angry when he'd seen her. She'd actually cowered into a corner of her bedroom when he'd roared his fury, kicking the shit out of everything she owned in that bedroom, shattering the framed photo of her parents on her bedside table, obliterating the phone, leaving great, gaping holes in the walls left by powerful fists and the trajectory of abused furniture. But he hadn't touched her—he'd thrown things at her, most had missed but some had stung as they collided with her head or her arms—but his hands had avoided her body at all costs, and the tiny flame of defiance within her stirred and danced, surprising herself with how wilfully she'd tempted his temper.

The women at the quarry eyed her hairstyle with varying expressions of sympathy and distaste and Carol wondered for the first time in years if maybe it was time to grow it out. She immediately felt ashamed of herself for considering something so superficial when she'd left her home—been forced out of it—before her poor daughter's body could even be given her final rest beneath the dirt at their local cemetery, before receiving final absolution and prayers for peace. Besides, she was stupid to even be considering her far inferior looks when standing next to Lori, Amy and Andrea. What would be the point? Why would she want to compete with them and what would it get her in the end? Ed had forgotten his abhorrence of her, closed his eyes to her lack of attraction, and each night he took her hard, rough, leaving deep bruises beneath her skin and bite marks that broke through her flesh and left weeping sores that ached and made her violently sick from the knowledge of it.

"Um, hey." The young Asian boy seemed to skid to a halt right in front of her and Carol blinked, realising she'd been lost in her thoughts, succumbing to self-pity and thoughts unbefitting of her grief.

She didn't answer, feeling that her voice had grown so rusty in her throat by now that she just preferred to forget it was there. She watched him, though, her stance nervous but not emitting a strong avoidance vibe.

He seemed to wait for a moment, timing himself for how long he'd give her to speak and then he barrelled straight into his request without taking in a breath, as if he feared that if he didn't ask her fast he'd be sent away without the advantage of her consent.

"I ripped my shirt while helping Dale with his RV. Lori said you were really good at sewing and stuff. Would you mind having a look at it, please?" He peered at her with a look of such youth, such innocence that Carol felt a lump expand in her throat. She lifted her hand slowly, felt the fabric between her fingers and nodded, trying to hold back how eager she was to do something for someone—anything to help her feel useful and preoccupied and away from Ed. "Oh wow, thanks," Glenn gushed and she couldn't help but smile. "It's my favourite shirt—my sister sent it to me for my last birthday."

He let go of the shirt and it felt heavy in her hands. Everything felt heavy these days, like she was wading through water just to take one step away from the nightmare that surged and huddled within her heart. Feeling a wave of grief attempt to take her in its grip and rip her once again to pieces, Carol stumbled into action, frantically searching camp for needle and thread so she could get to work, as short work as it would be.

The women gathered around her, doing their own little chores and on some level Carol appreciated the company though she feared it as well, not sure how strong she was to contain her pain while they chattered and her grief bubbled up inside her. The conversation turned unfavourable suddenly, breaking into one of Carol's no-go areas and she tensed as Amy asked the question she dreaded: what were they doing when the world ended?

Amy laughed, saying how she thought the power going off in the middle of facebooking her friends about the strange phenomena of the dead attacking the living had been her first clue the world was spitting a time out in the dust, and Andrea good naturedly slapped the back of her head, calling her a freak for being so reliant on technology.

"Oh, like you weren't always glued to your iPhone," Amy teased and Carol felt a twinge twist in her gut at how happy the two of them were to be together in this, even if they were living in fear every day that the dead would somehow find them, even up in this mountain.

"Not for the first time I'm glad I've never met _the _man of my life and had a couple of kids to get out and keep safe. Lori, I don't know how you do it," Andrea said, unknowingly setting off a time bomb and Carol sitting meekly, terrified, counting down the minutes until the tears broke through and she humiliated herself in front of them all.

"Oh, you and me both," Lori agreed readily, her face warm around her grin. "That boy can be as slippery as a snake. Sometimes I wonder what on earth I need to _do_ to keep him still."

"My two are all grown up," Jacqui interjected, and for the first time sadness filtered into the conversation. "My daughter told me she was trying to get out the last time I was able to talk to her." The quiet respect for Jacqui and her very real chance at having lost her children settled between them and Carol could hear her own breaths coming faster, harder. Images swept through her mind: Sophia stretched out along that bed—always on that damn bed with cold fingers, cold feet, cold heart. A tear escaped as the doctor's words slammed into her again… 'nothing we could do.' Such a bad joke, such agony to hear it, to feel those words as they bit into her flesh and burrowed in under her skin until they slammed forcefully into her heart. The police, asking about Ed, wanting to know where he was, wanting to know why her daughter might have swallowed those pills, wanting to know why she might have chosen to kill herself with her underclothes missing. With her panties…

"So Carol, what were you doing when the world ended?" Amy prompted but Carol was already lost. The end of her world had struck earlier than theirs, had tipped her over and left her shattered and broken long before this new threat had taken route in her consciousness. Why was Sophia nude under her dress?

She'd never stopped to ask herself the questions, to wonder why Ed had gone into hiding and even though her thought processes were fuzzy and she was clawing her way through it to try to grasp at something she knew she should already know, Ed's booming voice from across the camp splintered her introspection and she became aware of a sharp pain in her hand and the blood that now soaked into Glenn's shirt.

"You outta be fuckin' comatose the way you walk around this camp like a ghost. Wake yourself the hell up, you stupid bitch. You better not get any of our asses killed with your zoned out shit or I'll take it out of your hide."

"Back off, Ed," Andrea ordered, standing up and wedging herself between Carol and her advancing husband, his anger over such a minor thing a complete shock to all of them. Carol didn't move, just waited for the brutal clasp of his hand around her arm as he roughly shoved Andrea aside and, just as the women were all about to jump him, racing to her defence, the roaring hum of a motorcycle broke into the open of their camp with an old, blue truck following close behind it.

Carol ignored the strangers, ignored the race of everyone else to either embrace or defend against new people showing up out of the blue. She was fixated on her daughter, caught in a loop of images that kept barraging her mind with some kind of message she just wasn't connecting. The niggling, teasing truth was close but before it settled into a plain image she was being brutally shaken and then shoved toward their tent, Glenn's shirt lying forgotten as it fell from her bloodied hand to Amy's feet. As Ed dragged her away from the commotion, she grasped little more than blue eyes that watched her trajectory across camp and while she'd remained numb to most looks over the last weeks from people she didn't know, the expression in both sets of eyes made her gasp. She tripped as she registered what it meant, what these two new men had worked out about her before they'd even met her, and instead of judgment or sympathy like she suffered from every other person she'd ever met that had worked out the same, in them she saw something new and it rocked her to the core.

In two sets of blue eyes she saw understanding, and it broke her even more.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Wow! I am shocked and humbled at the response to my last chapter. This story is dark, so it's very exciting to know it already has such a following. This story has also been ambiguous about pairing, so again, shocked that so many are along for the ride. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that it will most likely be a Caryl fic, but I'm not going to declare it as a certainty. Not yet, anyway.

I'm going to PM replies in a few, but for those I can't reply to…

GG—I know the obvious reason for Carol to have cut her hair is to hamper abusive situations and her hair being used as a weapon, but I do think it could be more than that. I don't have exactly the personal history of spousal abuse—though my father …well—but I do know this kind of ploy, without getting too personal. It really resonated with me.

Carol needs people, she needs friends, and I'm so glad that in this I can give them to her. She's going to really need them.

**Warnings: **Graphic rape and violence, spousal abuse, mention of child molestation.

If I've written it right, this chapter is going to get rough. Please don't read it if things like child molestation or spousal rape is a trigger for you. This will be relatively graphic. On the up side, I do think this is as horrible as it's going to get. When you're this far down, the only way to go is up.

Part Six

Ed ripped open the tent flap and shoved her inside. Carol landed hard on her knees, crying out at the sharp edge of a rock under the floor of the tent impacting her kneecap and, as pain ricocheted through her leg, she wondered what on earth could have put him in such a foul mood.

"You think you're some handmaid for all the assholes in this camp? You don't do squat for them 'less I say so. You hearin' me?"

She heard him, even though his big hand was cupping the back of her head and his fingers dug into her neck, his grip getting tighter as he suddenly, without warning pushed her face into the floor. Fabric tore as he ripped at her clothes and she could feel the spittle from his feral, frenzied need splash on her shoulder. She was naked before she could speak, her face being crushed under the force of his hold and the sobs rose in her throat. She'd been trained to keep them to herself, never wanting Sophia to ever hear the times he got over his repulsion for her and forced himself on her. It was always violent, brutal, degrading and this time she had the whole camp outside to judge her, ignore her pain, ignore his behaviour.

"You're so old," he accused her spitefully, the acknowledgement obviously as revolting to him as her hairstyle had been in the past, but it didn't stop him from loosing his cock from his pants. She was gasping shuddering breaths when he forced her over, his hand going back to her throat, closing it in tight and cutting off her air completely, laughing as she tried to claw at his hands. "So fucking ugly." His usually dismissive gaze wandered over her body, a sneer curling his lip. His free hand found her breasts and he pinched her nipples viciously, massaged the soft flesh of her breast with bruising force and she whimpered, thrashed, unable to stop her reaction to the punishment even though she knew he'd make it hurt even more. He smirked, lifting his hand to cover her mouth and then his gaze fell to the snatch of hair between her legs and he frowned. He pushed off her briefly and she gulped in stagnant air, watching him terrified as he ratted around in his pack. He came back at her with a razor in his hand then started dry hacking at her pubic hair like a man desperate and deranged. Confusion reigned, and then sharp prickles of pain as he didn't care about whatever flesh he nicked and as Carol panicked, as she tried to raise her body from the floor of the tent and bat away his hands before he could cause more injury than their limited medical facilities could deal with, he threw the razor against the tent wall and buried himself inside her.

The sting and tearing of dry, unprepared flesh had her cry out again but he yanked back and slammed into her again, suddenly turned frenzied by her new, shaven pussy, despite the slow rivers of blood that now dotted her flesh.

"You keep it clear now, y'hear?" he grunted, the turn of his mouth aggressive and the glint in his eye rabid. "Don't wanna fuck no old woman."

The wheels in her brain jolted to a start and something in her expression must have startled him because for a second she thought she could see fear. He hid it in the space of time it took to blink his eyes and then as he rammed himself in and out of her, fucking her raw, he started the biting, this time taking her breast in his mouth and growling as his teeth ripped into her flesh. She screamed and immediately he clapped his hands around her throat and squeezed, and as she choked for air, clawing desperately at his hands to release their hold, any thoughts she'd had fled in the face of certain death.

He'd never fully throttled her before, having enough self-preservation to stop himself from taking it too far, but Carol already knew he was further gone than usual. He stared at her with contempt, his face bright red and swollen with apoplectic rage and, as if suddenly realising he was about to commit murder he reared back, withdrawing his hands from her throat and his cock from her body. Fearfully she glanced down, gasping and heaving for air and allowed the tears to fall as she saw the smattering of her blood as his cock glistened in front of her. He punched her then, not caring that it was her face and that everyone would see the black eye before night truly fell. He punched her again and then flipped her, thrusting back inside her and riding it out, shoving her face back into the floor as she gave into the humiliation, the horror of being this stupid, ineffectual thing he felt he had the right to hurt endlessly.

"You keep that cunt of yours shaved, bitch," he said, his voice high and frantic as he edged closer to completion. He pulled out and spewed his cum across her ass and she waited, readied herself for the final humiliation. He scooped up some of his spendings on his finger and jammed it hard into her ass, and like some demented dog that hasn't realised yet that it's dead, he tried to force his flaccid dick into the hole. He grunted, almost cried in frustration, wanting to hurt her irreparably and Carol kissed the floor, cried in relief and gratitude that God had at least spared her this. She expected the punch to her side but curled up into herself, bracing for the kicks that were sure to come. Eyes tightly clamped shut as she sobbed quietly, she listened to the rustle of his clothing as he got dressed, stomping from the tent without giving her another thought and Carol collapsed within herself.

She had no idea how much time had passed, only knowing that the light had stopped creeping inside the tent and the blankness of her mind was beginning to refill with thoughts. Slowly she raised herself up, cleaned herself down the best she could with the ruined clothing he'd left her with and then, finally, fumbled around in the dark for her own pack, finding fresh underwear, a clean shirt that might hopefully cover her throat, and pants. She donned them slowly, trying hard not to focus on the pain that blossomed around her eye. Trying to ignore the burning wound at her breast from his cruel bite.

When she was finished she started to take notice of the sounds outside, the ones indicating the camp preparing for a shared evening meal, a conglomeration of whatever tins the group could gather together to stave off hunger for another day.

Someone cleared their throat at the door of her tent and Carol tensed, waiting for the intrusion, waiting for the humiliation to pass from beyond the small haven she hid within out into the open where all the others would feign ignorance and pretend they had no idea that her husband had just brutally raped her without a care for any possible intervention. She was alone, even amongst all these people, and Carol hated herself, hated all of them for doing nothing, hated herself again for even expecting them to. They weren't her friends, they weren't anybody to her but fellow travellers through fate and circumstance and she really needed to remember it before she got herself into more trouble than she was already in.

"Carol? Carol, honey. Come on out and sit around the fire. Those new boys have brought us some meat for dinner." Lori Grimes's voice grated on her nerves but Carol perked up at the thought of meat, at the thought of company even though she knew they'd all stare at her. Staying inside in the dark would drive her crazy reliving her nightmares, she knew it, and so with a weary body, with achingly slow progress, she crawled to the door of the tent and made her way beyond it, Lori bending quickly to help her. The brunette hugged her unexpectedly and Carol wished she could stop the swift sting of tears. Maybe she was wrong, maybe some of them did care, but like her, their hands were tied.

The delicious aroma of cooking meat had her salivating in seconds. It was enough to hold her focus so she was able to ignore the veiled looks that came her way. Ed stared at the fire and she blanched, not expecting him to be there, not knowing quite what she _had _expected, but now realising that he was no fool, never a fool, and the promise of meat for a man like Ed, even if it came from a couple of men like the Dixon's, was something he'd be enticed beyond measure by. Lori deposited her as far from Ed as she could, sitting not too far away from her own family but giving Carol a small measure of protection by placing her between the Dixon brothers. The brunette whispered in her ear the new knowledge of these strangers, looking nervously between them but patting Carol's hand reassuringly.

"If you need anything, you just let me know. Okay?" Lori said while placing a bowl of food into her hands, then left her as Carol nodded and sank down in front of the fire, obvious to them all that she was traumatised and in pain.

The night turned into one of storytelling, many of them taking turns and Carol lost herself to the steady burr of voices, wondering if she could possibly get away with sleeping outside for the night. She couldn't bear the thought of going back into that tent, of sleeping next to a man that hated her so much that he could have killed her. Unconsciously her fingers went to her throat, rubbing the raw line of pain that had made it hard to swallow down her food, that had made her voice husky the one time she used it to say thanks to one of these new Dixon boys—she wasn't sure of first names yet. The older one kept glancing at her, she could feel the heat of his stare as he sat to the side of her, and strangely she didn't feel threatened by it. No, the sensation was quite bizarre, but she actually felt sheltered, protected and she wondered if Ed sensed it and whether she'd pay dearly for it later.

"What about you, Merle? Any stories you'd like to share?" Dale asked, aiming his encouraging smile at the elder Dixon and Carol's interest perked up immediately, twisting in her seat to watch him.

"Nah, my stories'd scare the littlies." A gleam of mischief sparkled in his eye and he winked at Carol. The blood drained from her face and she quickly looked across the fire at Ed, swallowing hard at the murderous rage that swept across his face. Fear like she'd never known before crept up her spine, crawled it's way inside her and tried to bury her so deep she lost track of what was going on around her. Everything she had to feel afraid of danced back to the surface, her aching heart, her tired and abused body, and as she spent seconds flittering from one image of pain to another, Merle's voice once again broke through her panic and served to centre her. "Little bro has a few," he promised, his big booted foot coming out to kick his brother's roughly. Carol watched as the younger Dixon sat up straight and glared at his brother, shy eyes glancing over her before quickly darting away and he attempted to shrink away from the group without even moving from his seat. "Go on, Daryl. Tell 'em all about the day you saw a chupacabra." Merle hooted with laughter and Carol witnessed the burn of embarrassment as it sparked to life on Daryl's cheeks and she smiled at him, showing a small measure of support despite the way she shook from knowing this interaction with these men was going to tip Ed over the edge. Merle might think his brother's story funny, or worth teasing him, but already she sensed it would be fun, distracting, and just what she needed to face another night with Ed. Maybe her last night with Ed.

The rest of the group chipped in, begging and pleading with him to recount the story, the children loudest of all, and with surprising patience he began, keeping them all rapt to attention as he rounded the story out with his thick, expressive voice, full of southern drawl and naïve and steadfast belief in something so unbelievable. When he was finished Carol actually clapped and tears were once again biting at her eyes.

"Sophia would have loved that story," she couldn't help but say and then felt every eye burning into her soul. The camp was suddenly silent, staring at her and she wondered if it was because she barely ever spoke, or if it was because they sensed the tragedy behind her words. Ed caught her eye and she gasped, feeling the pain of it all wash over her, the images dead centre in her brain and overwhelming with how recent and wrenching her grief still was. She was about to stand, about to run from them all when Carl took the initiative, the blindness to peril that children often have coming to the fore and making her freeze to the spot.

"Who's Sophia?"

The bombshell was dropped and Ed reared to his feet, fury catapulting him upright to show no hesitation, no concern for how they would all see him.

"Don't you fucking dare speak that little bitch's name," he hissed, hatred making his body tense, ready to spring. His harshness shocked her, though she should have expected it by now and everyone and everything sheared out of her existence.

"She was your _daughter,_" Carol screamed, the bitterness so overwhelming she couldn't keep it in any longer. "How can you talk about her like that?"

"I ain't gonna talk about her at all," he snarled and now Carol was truly afraid. "Neither are you, so shut your fucking mouth."

"She's dead, Ed. She killed herself. Don't you want to know why?" Carol was standing now, holding her arms protectively around herself knowing she was done for, that he'd finally kill her for this, but finding she was unable to stop, unable to even care anymore. All the clues dived through her memory, slapping her with seconds of snippets that she could barely hold onto. "Or do you already know?" Tears flowed down her face and blurred her vision. He could be stampeding at her like a crazed bull for all she knew, she could barely see anything but hazy colours.

"I don't know nothin' an' I don't give a shit. Shut your mouth."

The group gasped and Carol choked on a sob. "How can you be so cruel?" She was losing control, being swept away on a tide of unbearable pain and all she kept thinking was, why did the police want to see him, why was she wearing no panties, why…?

The thoughts stopped dead in her head and she blinked her eyes free of tears, her bleary vision clearing as realisation bled into her consciousness and she at last saw him plainly for the very first time and went cold. Saw him for the monster he truly was. The way he'd condemned her age—the same age as him, the way he'd stabbed at her with that razor, hacking away at her pubic hair to try to make her clear, smooth, young… Her breath hitched in her chest as something horrible exploded in her head, as terrible guilt engulfed her. Her hand clutched at her throat and she was oblivious to the pain, welcomed it instead in the hopes it would kill off this brutal understanding that was finally slamming into her. It couldn't be true, he couldn't have done that…not to her Sophia, not to her baby girl. She couldn't breathe, air getting stuck in her throat as she gasped and heaved and gave in to the sobs that tore at her throat to be free.

"Why were the police looking for you, Ed?" Her voice was unrecognisable, scraped out of some bottomless barrel of hopelessness, but it was picking up steam as she vocalised all the thoughts she'd had since she'd found Sophia. "Where _were_ you?"

He was silent and she saw the way he was calculating his way out of this confrontation. Saw the panic in his eyes as the true depth of his character truly sunk in.

"Why wasn't she wearing underwear, Ed?" Hysteria popped like a bubble and he exploded, his vitriol nearly dribbling to his chin.

"How the fuck should I know?"

But the guilt was there, she saw it, razor sharp eyes now seeing everything that she'd missed for…God, how long? How long had this perverted, sick creature been violating her child?

"Did you rape my daughter?"

He hadn't touched her for three months, Carol realised in the pits of her horrified reality, and the great hollow ache inside splintered and she felt sharp, nauseating grief rocket through her blood stream, licking her like scorching flames trying to burn out her misery. Three months. Oh God.

Ed didn't say a word, just stared at her with such a depth of malice—of pure evil—in his eyes that Carol almost vomited at Merle's feet. She looked down, saw the man's feet spread apart, steady, bracing his large frame as he stood just to the side of her and as her body began to sweat, as everything turned red, fury barged its way into her and her gaze clicked onto his gun. It was tucked into his pants, not in a holster like Shane's, and while her brain was thinking academically about how many guns were surrounding her now, her hands snatched at it and ripped it from his body, aiming it across the fire at her husband before she pulled the trigger. It clicked and clicked but no bullet exploded from the chamber and in sheer furious frustration, she pegged it across the fire, praying the hard, heavy metal would hit him in the head.

It dropped short and Ed leaned forward and had it in his grip before Carol's eyes could even fully widen with fear and shock.

"Shit," she vaguely heard Merle utter beside her as Ed raised the gun and aimed it straight between her eyes.

"You're such a damn stupid fuck up you don't even know to take the safety off." Ed smirked as he did exactly that, Carol realising the difference between her attack and his in a heartbeat. Everything stilled, every person around that fire silent and fearful but, as she allowed her lids to drop closed and her body shook waiting for the force to hit her, waited to be reunited with her daughter, she heard an unfamiliar noise and the sound of something singing through the air before impact. The gun dropped to the ground and Ed collapsed, screaming in pain. Carol cracked her eyes open and saw him writhing on the ground an arrow sticking out of his thigh. Wavering between shock and hysterical laughter, she clapped a hand over her mouth and turned to Daryl, focusing on the crossbow she hadn't seen before but was now held aloft in his hands, a look of seething hatred burning around his eyes. He nodded to her and then was lost in the rush of bodies making haste to either get away from the crime scene or to deal with the situation at hand.

Carol found herself surrounded and panicked. Andrea, Lori and Jacqui were tugging on her arms, trying to get her to move away from the fire. She jerked away, wanting no one to touch her, no one to distract her from the great weight of her guilt, the crushing realisation that she'd left her daughter to be brutalised by her own father. Eventually they understood, most of them backing off and allowing Andrea alone to guide her away.

Shane was bent over Ed while Merle was pocketing his gun back in his pants, though for a second she could see he contemplated finishing the job she'd started but failed to execute. Execute. The true desire to do just that made her laugh and within seconds she was sobbing and laughing so hysterically it took someone lifting her and carrying her to the RV before she could grasp the need to get away from Ed.

She closed her eyes again, not wanting to know who had their hands on her, who helped her, who protected her. She deserved nothing but her pain, wanted nothing but to wallow in her most terrible failure. She sobbed uncontrollably on Dale's bed while images of her little girl for the twelve years of her life tormented her soul.

* * *

**AN: **Phew, that is so done! This was a struggle, as I'm sure you can all imagine. The next chapter might be a little wait as I contemplate where to go to from here, but I hope it affects you enough to review. Oh, and that C word? I have massive issues with that word. It's one of my 'don't go there' words, and I'm a trucker's daughter with a sailor's mouth, so if I can't say it, it's got to be bad! Anyway, please review. It means a lot and is really good at keeping up the enthusiasm to write. This is my third chapter this week…and it's only Thursday! I might have another in me for one of my fics for the rest of the week…requests?


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **So, this chapter has been a long time coming. It wasn't so easy to switch from Carol's exclusive POV after 6 chapters, but it seemed necessary to finally do it. I would love to hear from you all on how you think this is going, and will warn now that there will be some deviations from canon. I tend to love Canon, and don't hardly ever delve into rewriting it or changing the facts as we know them, but this time I think I will be. As if I haven't changed things enough already! Also, as much as I'm loving all the fic responses for the terrible unfolding events of our current season, I just can't write it. Right now it is too depressing, so, I must stick to my fics. Please support me! ~~ Megan

And hey! I am on Tumblr! Follow me at meganpetaf.

Part Seven

Merle had never been the type to want to adopt lost souls, never been one to locate kindred spirits and shepherd them under his wing. He kept his nose out of other people's business, ignored all kinds of shit that went on under other people's rooves, and kept his emotions in check. Daryl and he had expended all their desire to shell out sympathy as far as he was concerned, battling their way through their own childhood and mean-as-shit father, they never needed to go and bury their noses in someone else's patch unless they were provoked. As he'd got older, his decision was more sound, and, along with eeking out a living with the people skills he _did _have, dealing shit to people even more fucked up than him, he continued to keep other people's shit at bay. He never questioned the veracity in which he ignored the emotional bullshit that came along with life. Some might call him and his brother emotional retards, but Merle just knew that they understood what it took to take care of themselves, and taking care of themselves meant not opening themselves up to others. Ever. People didn't mean shit to them, they didn't need no one else to get by and even with the world turning to shit, and the start of their run through it all, neither of them had ever thought it would change. So, being that he'd normally run a mile in the other direction of a pair of pretty blue eyes that were melting under an avalanche of tears and soul shattering grief, he was a little confused that he was still standing amidst a circle of concerned group members, contemplating what to do about their recently ousted criminal.

An unexpected urge to get involved _this _time propelled him right into the middle of the event, and as he stood amongst it, he blinked, surprised to see his normally taciturn brother right in it as well without so much as a discussion between them. Merle grinned. Wasn't often he and his little brother weren't on the same page, and when they were it still tickled him that he'd brought the boy up right—taught the little shit how to fucking _survive _in this world. The grin turned sour almost immediately as he turned back to the RV, heard that woman crying up a storm of such hallowing sadness that his own gut clenched in pain. He didn't have the first clue why she was affecting him so bad, and as he watched the scowl on Daryl's face deepen, his face dark and furious, he realised he wasn't understanding that, neither.

Daryl was pacing back and forth, his crossbow dangling apparently loosely in his hand, but Merle knew from experience how fast the boy could swing it up and fire when the need arose. His brother was agitated, darting quick, confused looks up at the RV where the blonde had taken the other one—the one who'd used Merle's gun to try and end a torment he could read in her eyes that she'd borne for too many years.

"Shit." Daryl marched around the gathering with an ill-concealed case of the jitters, his body near vibrating with the need to do something _violent, _and Merle sympathised because if there was one thing his own hands were itching to do, it was wrap themselves around that paunchy shithole responsible for killing his own daughter and squeezing till his ugly face turned blue. "That woman ain't never gonna stop her howlin'," Daryl exclaimed, earning an icy glare from the bitch that kept giving the cop lusty glances. She heard condemnation, Merle heard bone-rattling sympathy.

"Do you blame her?" The bitch stood before the fire, glancing toward the RV and looked like she was about to head back on over to help Blondie out. It was obvious to even the thickest observer that the blonde was failing spectacularly at calming the woman down.

Merle veered his gaze away from his brother's aggressive pacing and his eyes bugged meanly at her. "We ain't fuckin' heartless, sweet cheeks," he said, spitting furiously into the dirt, ignoring the looks of revulsion the women aimed at him. He grinned around it, enjoying the edge he felt they now waited along while this whole sorry tale played out.

"She's gonna attract more a those dead fucks to camp if she don't stop her caterwaulin' soon," Daryl said, stating fact, his steps jerky as he paced back and forth, each length getting shorter and shorter as he alternated concerned glances to the RV and ones filled with concentrated venom in the direction Shane Walsh had hauled off Ed Peletier. Merle could swear he could read some desire for vengeance on his brother's face, chuckled at the thought of Daryl advancing on the meaty, bullying fuck and jamming his arrow a little further into his thigh, maybe nick a vein and make the bastard bleed out slowly.

"She's traumatised, for God's sake," the brunette defended, throwing herself back to her feet and making like this time she really was going to leave them and go to help out Blondie. The black woman closed a hand around her arm, stopping her from going anywhere.

"Lori, let Andrea handle it," she advised softly before she tugged on Lori's arm and the brunette flopped helplessly into a chair, shaking her head sadly.

"God, Jacqui, I can't believe this is happening. I mean, we knew he was hitting her and I'm almost certain he raped her earlier, but molesting their child? How does a mother come back from that?"

Jacqui put her arm around Lori and Merle snorted. Anyone would think it were these two that needed comforting, not the poor abused woman in the RV with a cry that wouldn't quit. Daryl was staring at the two in disgust and Merle could see the boy's estimation of women hadn't climbed hardly higher than a blade of grass in the last five minutes, and yet he was still running in circles, twisting himself in knots over the revelation of what that woman had been through with her fucker of a husband.

"Jesus, Merle. Ain't you got somethin' we can give 'em to sedate her?" Daryl asked him hopefully, thoughtlessly, and Merle could see a whole new set of assumptions and judgements roll through their little gathering as Lori's eyes hardened as she watched him. Like he gave a shit what that bitch thought of him.

"Might be I got some vallium," he said, striding toward their tent. As if he'd have any of that princess shit, but as he flicked through his stash, he found a small canister of something that might do the trick. Heading straight to the RV, he tapped once on the door before launching himself up inside, contemplating Blondie's complete air of despair as she tried to tend the shattered woman.

Merle approached her slowly, stepping past the blonde with only a cursory glance at her goodies—more than willing to come back to that later—then sat beside her, catching her watery gaze and aiming a soft smile at her.

"You gotta settle down, sweetheart, or you're gonna bring a whole load of biters down ontop of us."

She hiccupped around her sobs and Merle's heart clenched. This woman was damn near broke and he found it hard to witness it. She had a ring of black bruising around an impossibly long throat, and he could see the hint of further discolouration out the top V of her shirt, a hand print around her upper arm, dried blood on her lip from where she'd ripped open a scab. He gripped the bottle of pills in his hand and he wished the wife-bashing prick she was married to was close so he could smash his fist into his nose. Maybe Merle should teach her how to shoot: first lesson about the safety and the second never to toss your weapon at the enemy, then stand back while she put a bullet right between the asshole's eyes.

"I am so sorry about your gun." She looked completely drained, almost dead with shock and horror and Merle was compelled to lower further his usual walls and invite her in. He took her hand in his free one, ignored her snotty nose and tear-ravaged face and gave her a sympathetic smile.

"No worries. I got it back."

She nodded, but her lips were wobbling again and he knew she was about to start up her god-awful crying, couldn't blame her as his imagination of what her pain must be was far more vivid than he liked, reminded him of another woman he'd banished from his memories too many years ago to count.

"Tell me about your girl," he invited, guessing that maybe she needed to talk, to remember the life she had with her child before everything got so fucked up. He didn't expect her to go for the kill, choking him with his own good intentions.

"Sophia," Carol nodded, a tiny smile barely breaking through the misery. "She was twelve. I found her a few days ago now, swallowed a bottle of pills. His pills. They were for his bad back—that's why he couldn't work. Why he sat at home watching television all day while I went out and…I left her there, with him." She dissolved into sobs that stripped his soul to naked and Merle clenched his jaw, frantically trying to wrap his head around why this family was so fucked up when he knew intimately how easily that went.

For some reason he'd pictured her daughter as a young woman, maybe sixteen at the youngest, but now the picture she painted very well backed up her shattered reality and even a world-weary life traveller like Merle felt sickened by the scene. The kid was nothing but a child. Hell, there were other kids right outside this RV around the same age and he immediately wondered if the miserable fuck outside had been casting his eye over the little Latino girl. He knew with soul crushing certainty that Daryl was going to struggle with this. With the abuse of a kid. They never talked about what they'd grown up suffering with, just accepting it and moving on, trying not to let it kill them even though it ultimately steered every single decision they made.

She didn't seem to be able to say anything more and he felt too hopeless with his own thoughts so he caught Blondie's eye, rattled the pill bottle and jerked his head at the sink and stack of cups. She rushed him a cup of water and he tipped out a pill, offering it to this woman he'd suddenly placed under his wing. She tipped back the cup, swallowed the pill down no questions asked, then closed her eyes. She swayed and he could see the ordeal of her day had taken everything out of her. He was about to stand and get the hell out of the tin can when her eyes opened and caught him in the middle of one of the most intense blue-eyed showdowns of his life. She recaptured his hand, tears clinging to her lashes like little lost jewels, and she squeezed it, squeezing his heart right along with it. He couldn't explain it—she was older than he liked, her hair grey and shorn so short she was almost bald, but she had a gentle vulnerability that just made her beautiful and he couldn't look away. Couldn't help but see more in her than he'd seen in any woman so far in his life.

"Thank you." Before he could register what she was doing, she kissed the back of his hand as she held it tight within both of hers now, then he could see her lids start to get too heavy for her body to stay upright. With Blondie's help, he twisted her round on the bed so she might get some rest—some relief from such torment and grief. "Thank you, Merle."

No, he'd never made room in his life before for lost souls, but this time, there was someone or something up there pulling his strings, not letting him resist her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"T-Dog's watching him."

The cop strutted back to the main camp, his face a study of disgust and helplessness and Daryl wanted to march right by him and take better aim at the sorry sack of shit the black guy was stuck guarding.

"Yeah?" he said, feeling more than a little surly, more than a little restless about all the nothing that was being done about a kid rapist. A fucking child molester. "Ain't no need for that if the fucker ain't breathin'."

He needed to stop his pacing. He was working himself up into a fury, or more of one anyway, and he couldn't stop himself even for two minutes to try to reason out why he was so pissed about it in the first place. That woman weren't his problem, hell, he'd never even met her daughter, and yet as soon as he heard what the sorry asshole was her husband did to the both of them, he wanted to ram his arrow through the prick's head with his bare fucking hands. He wanted to cut his fucking dick off and throw it to the biters so the asshole could see how very powerless his scrawny prick really was. He thought he could use it to rape his wife, molest his daughter? Well, Daryl would like to see how he coped with it rammed right up tight into his asshole.

"Whoa, slow down, Daryl. We can't go killin' a man just on hearsay," Shane reasoned, even though Daryl could plainly see a defiant, blood-thirsty gleam in the cop's eye.

"Yeah? Why not? Bastard looked plenty guilty to me. Damn near confessed," he argued defiantly, needing to quench some dark, buried element of his soul by spilling Ed Fucking Peletier's blood. He was bristling with bottled up rage, his anger and frustration flashing out whenever he couldn't rein it back in and keep it contained. "Was about to shoot that woman 'tween the eyes if I hadn't put a bolt in 'im first."

"Same can be said about Carol," Lori piped in and Daryl just about turned purple with the viciousness of his glare. "Not that she wasn't justified," she covered quickly, shrinking back against Jacqui.

"We gotta think this through," Shane argued, dropping into a squat beside Lori, shaking his head while he shuddered next to her. "Damn, it was obvious that woman was travelling under a whole load of problems, but I never imagined we'd run into something like this. We got no court of law to deal with this, not now. Maybe not anymore."

Lori rubbed his back as she warily eyed Daryl and he watched her just as intently back. "We can still keep justice within us," she affirmed, and Daryl scoffed.

"Yeah? What about justice for that little girl?"

They all hung their heads, every last one of them and Daryl walked off, thoroughly disgusted. The woman had stopped her crying and he suspected Merle was in there doing his magic and for some reason he didn't feel as comfortable or apathetic about that as he usually would. There wasn't a damn thing about this whole situation that was making sense to him, except this hammering need for revenge against any dickless prick that thought driving a young girl toward taking her own life was something he should get away with. No one should ever feel like that, especially not some kid. He knew what hopeless felt like, but he'd had Merle to haul him out of his despair. This kid apparently had no one and that right there ticked him off all the more. Daryl wanted the bastard dead, and was in the process of kicking his own ass for not aiming his holt a little higher, sending it soaring across the fire to lodge straight in Ed fucking Peletier's eye.

He and Merle had only been in camp for half a day. Setting up their shit in mere minutes, they'd both gone out hunting almost immediately, keen to cement their original plans to skip out when most of the group's backs were turned, taking whatever the other campers owned that they might see a use for. It made him sick to know he'd been out in the woods, plotting to rip off the people of this camp while that sick fucker had not only abused his wife, but damn near destroyed her. He'd seen the bruises on her the minute they'd arrived, could recognise the bullying tactics of her husband a mile away. He'd been sympathetic to a point, could understand her pain and her inability to escape from it, but he was never going to be her protector until it looked like the asshole was going to shoot her between the eyes. It was a risk shooting him in the thigh—the gun could have gone off and he'd have been standing next to a dead woman. Luckily his shot was true and no bullets had left the barrel. Bastard was damn lucky Daryl shot him where he did. He'd wanted to pin that douchebag's balls to a wall.

He heard the quiet flap of the RV door and then the not-so-gentle step of his brother as he left the rolling tin can and made his way over. He bypassed the miserable bunch around the fire and made his way straight to Daryl, shooting him a look that reflected exactly how helpless Daryl felt. With a jerk of his head, he reeled Daryl back in, the younger brother following Merle back to the group, listening intently as more of the story came to light.

"You seen any evidence that fat fucker got back problems?" he asked, pointedly looking at the cop that seemed to be running the show.

Every one of them shook their heads, sending suspicious looks first at Merle then over by the direction where Ed was tied out of sight.

"Sounds like our best buddy Ed was pretendin' to be in too much pain to support his family, sendin' his wife out to work to put food on his damn table while he raped his twelve year old daughter. Kid up and swallowed a bottle of his painkillers to escape him."

The hush around the fire was deafening, but within seconds a pounding roar exploded in Daryl's head and he stumbled back away from them. A kid. She was just a kid—that woman working herself ragged because that slimy piece of shit was _lyin' _about bein' in pain, _lyin'_ about takin' care of his kid, and now that woman had lost it all.

"That sick son of a bitch."

Daryl was off, already loading his crossbow on the move before anyone could even process what he meant to do. Shane was off running at him right as he aimed, tackling him hard in the side as his finger released the bolt. He hit the ground with force, shouting out as something jagged split the skin of his bicep and he wrestled and jerked violently to get the weight of another body off of him. Merle was there in an instant, hauling the cop's body off him then helping lift him to his feet. Daryl barely even glanced at the blood running down his sweaty arm, shot a vengeful glare at the cop, contemplated smacking him in the head with his crossbow then looked at the tree where his bolt was buried deep, right next to a long cut in Ed's cheek. Daryl kicked a rock, sending it straight at the bastard, watched as the coward panted and slobbered over Shane saving his life, then stalked off to his tent alone.

Merle hardened his jaw, saw Walsh shake his head before carelessly examining the prisoner. He yanked the arrow out of the tree trunk, handed it to Merle before getting up close to the cut, his hot breath right in Ed's face.

"You're damn lucky I'm a cop first, asshole. If I'da stopped to think about it, I might've just let that redneck pin you to this tree permanently."

Merle followed as Shane stormed away from Ed, leaving T-Dog on watch, the black man's face filled with loathing as he watched the prisoner. There were two things Merle knew for certain: they had to come up with a plan for this asshole before his brother took it upon himself to claim justice on behalf of that woman and her dead kid, and that the blood of this man wasn't something he wanted on Daryl's hands. He had a feeling that these people wouldn't be so careful about keeping this guy alive so long as Merle whispered in the right ear, and from what he'd seen so far, Shane Walsh's ears looked just the right size.


End file.
